


Wounds

by easorian (barronblack)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barronblack/pseuds/easorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan works at overcoming his ingrained Dalish insularity by sharing knowledge, and Cole works at understanding how to help in human ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> “It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”   
> ― Rose Kennedy

**Skyhold - Early morning**

Newly expanded, the infirmary sprawls across the lower half of the courtyard, buzzing with healers and alchemists. Moods are high with the adjustment, though Cullen’s has been dour at the loss of potential training grounds.

Uvunin wanders the area, apparently lost in thought and followed by a Cole-shaped shadow. Grass crunches underfoot, stiff with morning frost. After the third lap and increasing attention directed towards him, the Inquisitor finally summons enough grit to do what he’s come to do. Cole trails him over to the healers’ tents.

“A minute?”

The head surgeon is alarmed to see them but recovers. “Ser.” Her hands move in thoughtless rhythm, rerolling bandages still faintly stained despite a clear effort to scrub them clean. Her skin is cracked from the mountain air and continual washing, ruddy.

“I was the herbalist for my clan. If you’re interested, I…” There’s no real way to ease into it. “Would show you Dalish remedies.”

“Ser?” Her face is blank, then breaks into a cautious grin. “You would? We always need good solutions and word is the Dalish have some of the best. Not that they care to help anyone el… your pardon.”

What used to be a twisted sort of pride is now a barb in him. No one else is worth Dalish time, no one else should be trusted or helped. Self-serving lies. “That’s true, they don’t. But I’m helping now, if you’ll have me.”

The surgeon brusquely clears a worktable for the three of them and sets out pots of her usual medicines, lips pursed. Cole retrieves herbs and a myriad of supplies, listening for instructions with grave focus.

“How are we to measure?” asks the surgeon. “With the usual tools?”

“By taste. If the herb is fresh and healthy, you’ll use less for the same task.”

“And if it’s powdered? What if you pick a poisonous one by accident in the field?”

Uvunin gives her a strange look. “Do you usually put unknown plants in your mouth? I’ll teach you a quality grade so you can efficiently catalogue batches for large-scale use. It’s better to do it individually but there are too many wounded to waste time. Now, this is where we begin.”

Cole is the faster learner, if unintentionally. He samples herbs after every explanation and makes his own mixtures alongside the two. No questions come from him, only earnestly presented efforts in stained hands.

  


It’s well into the afternoon before the lesson ends.

The questions finally come once they leave the surgeon’s tent, Cole clutching a jar of fresh-made disinfecting salve. Jumbled, excited, vibrant questions. But most frequently: “Is this good enough? Can I help someone with it right now?”

Uvunin is tired, but he changes direction to a segregated area reserved for Fade-related infections. “There are stronger varieties I will show you another day, but try this for now.”

Cole rocks slowly on his feet, scrutinizing his jar and then the injured Inquisition soldiers in turn as he sways. All at once, he becomes a light-stepped arrow to the side of a pallid young woman. Settling down he murmurs to her but waves his hand with a burst of black fog to erase her memory and try again. The second time this happens, he stops before the magic comes and picks up his salve.

“I will do it this way instead. Completely. I was trying to explain, but she can’t understand me.”

“One hurt at a time Cole.”

The boy applies his treasure with care and covers it in an awkward criss-cross of bandaging. For a long time, he watches the wrapping as if waiting for the infection it hides to somehow show sign of improvement. Uvunin lowers himself to the grass beside Cole. It feels good to sit for a while and let the aches in his back fade to a distant throb.

“The wound will remember, won’t it?” asks Cole. “Even if this works?”

“Do the things you heal never leave scars? It doesn’t mean they aren’t repaired.”

Cole thinks about this, playing with a shred of waxed vellum. “It’s... more human to have scars. I understand that, even if I want to make sure there aren’t any.”

“It isn’t wrong to want that.”

They watch the sleeping woman in silence until the surgeon comes and politely chases them away to make room for more cots.


End file.
